Midnight Confessional
by Crazygirl99
Summary: Sleep never came easy to the people of Fleet Street. Slight Sweenett. One shot.


**Hello, poppets! Okay, I understand that you are mad. I decided to write an extremely long one-shot instead of updating my stories. Well, whatevs. I got the idea and needed to run with it. The next chapter for Sweeney the Unicorn is being written. So, please be patient.**

**Inspiration: The need to see some sort of kindness in Sweeney Todd. And the word confessional. It's a fun word. Seriously. Say it out loud. Right now. Oh, and I wanted to write one of the longest one-shots ever. Setting: After By the Sea. So… here's an ominous intro:**

* * *

Sleep never came easy to the people of 186 Fleet Street.

Most people can fall asleep very easily by counting sheep or some other sort of fluffy animal. The task is so boring that the people participating zone out within a matter of minutes. This unfortunately, never works on great minds. Now, one would ask yourself, what kind of great mind lives on Fleet Street? Ah, never underestimate the power of the mind. While the rest of London slept, alone or otherwise, three people in three different rooms stayed up, only to drop of exhaustion at the break of dawn. Who are these few, you ask? Oh, but I am getting ahead of myself. Why not introduce them one by one?

Tobias Ragg didn't know it, but he came from a line of insomniacs. His father never slept, as did his father, and his father's father and so on. So, it wasn't Toby's fault that whenever he tried to rest, the peaceful oblivion never came. He sat up in his bed, and, once in a while, tried to read his mum's trashy romance novels. He could never get past the tenth page, but at least it was something to do. Most of the time, he just lied down on the bed and thought about his family. Now, it is true that Toby only knew of one relative, and that was his sister, Caitlin. She was a prostitute that normally worked St. Dunstan's. Toby sometimes went to visit her, but only on Wednesdays. She never seemed to be busy on Wednesdays.

No, Toby did not know who his real parents are, but he still liked to pretend that he did. Toby liked that his parents could be whoever he wanted them to be. They could be pirates, sailing of the coast and who couldn't risk having a child to raise, so they left him and'll come back for them later. His parents could be queen and king of a foreign land and then their capitol got attacked, so they sent him to England to be safe. Toby smiled at that one: him, royalty. That's hilarious.

But imagining gets old after a while, and soon you get tired with your fantasies and wish you had a reality. So, he sat outside his mum's door. Her constant inhaling and exhaling made him feel like he had something solid: permanent. He would never lose that; he would rather die first. Yes, he could always count on his mum. But thoughts of Mrs. Lovett always drifted to the barber upstairs. They were practically connected, the barber and the baker, though Sweeney would never admit it. He needed her, she needed him. That's just the way the world works. Simple as life, Toby supposed. He would never see reason, though. Not the barber upstairs.

Thoughts of the barber always confused Toby. What was he? His dad, uncle, crazy neighbor? Well, he was certainly a crazy neighbor, but that wasn't the point. It was his connection to Mrs. Lovett that made things confusing. They weren't romantically involved to the naked eye, but there was definitely something there. Not that either of them would admit it. Especially Mr. Todd. But, if they were "together," then what would happen? Would they get married, have kids? Mr. Todd didn't seem like the "children" type. But, would they? Toby really didn't like the idea of siblings, most likely because of his bitchy sister. But, would they give him up when they got married? A small gasp escaped the boy. Would they really give him up? He knew that Mr. Todd didn't like him much, and only tolerated him because Mrs. Lovett wanted him around. If she had another son…

No, he wouldn't think about it. It's much too painful.

Around the time his thoughts reached this subject, it was around five am. Normally, he would just sleep at his mother's door for a few hours, until seven. But, on this particular night, Mrs. Lovett stirred in her sleep. Toby heard the creak of the mattress as she lifted her body off and on to the floor. Toby scrambled to get back in his room. The second he lied down on his bed, he heard his mum open the door. Why was she up? She was never up. Ever. Why was she up now? As he thought up of all of the possibilities, he slowly and surely drifted off to sleep. It seems sheep were a bit too simple to count.

Mrs. Lovett didn't sleep out of habit. When she was four, she was abandoned by her family and left at the workhouse. As Toby said, "Bad things happen there at night." Poor Toby had no idea. The workhouse managers were as horrible for the girls as they were for the guys, if not worse. By fourteen, she had heard more screams from the girls next to her than she will ever need to hear. To this day, if anyone screams, Mrs. Lovett will automatically burst into tears. It's an involuntary reaction, and she can't even hold back. By age 16, she had already become pregnant twice, and had to throw herself down staircases just to be rid of the condition. The damage done by that made her never able to have children later in life. She had learned that to fall asleep is to be vulnerable. If there was anything that Mrs. Lovett hated, it was vulnerability. So, after at least 22 years of not sleeping through the night, how could you go back?

The one person who hated her sleeping habits the most was Albert Lovett. He said that he couldn't sleep with her awake. Something about the breathing differences in the asleep and awake. So, he slept in the room that Toby currently inhabited. The bedroom difference was one of the reasons that he started beating her. He had never really been a gentle lover and now that he couldn't burn out his energy with that, he had to figure out another way. So, whenever Nellie did something just a bit wrong, she was rewarded with a fist to the face, or a belt, or a pan of some sort. She was beat easily ten times a day. Everyone knew, but no one said anything. Except for Benjamin.

Ah, yes, Benjamin Barker. The only person ever to encourage her to leave Albert. The only soul to ever defend her, even taking a pan to the head for her one day. She still remembers the day he asked her to run away with _him_!

It was a bright and sunny day, quite unusual for London, especially in winter. Nellie Lovett was selling flowers in the marketplace. No, she was no prostitute, but she had to make some sort of living, so flowers was not a bad choice. She knew a place where they grew like wild, and no one cared who picked them. Her husband wouldn't let her bake anymore. She really didn't know why. Most likely because it was his profession, and he never liked it that she was a baker, too. A better one at that. So, now she sold flowers at the marketplace. It was a slow day, Wednesday, and no one seemed to want flowers. Or perhaps it was because of the fresh bruise on her face that no one came near her. Was she really that unattractive? She leaned over to look in a puddle by the corner. _Oh, dear_ she thought. The left half of her face was a purplish color, and her hair was a bit fried on one side. Her husband had curled some of her hair around a fire poker so she couldn't run away while he hit her face. The end result was an irritated scalp, and lopsided hair.

As she looked down at her tired and beaten reflection, another, fresher face joined in the puddle. Benjamin Barker looked at Nellie's face, with the reminisce of a faded smile on his lips. "Nellie, what happened?" he sighed.

Nellie's heart quickened. She couldn't tell whether it was because that Ben was so close or that she was about to lie. "Oh, I jus' tripped. Nothin' ta bothea you with, love."

Benjamin gave her a skeptical look. He knows she's lying, so he pulls her aside and into an alley. She would be afraid, if it wasn't Ben. "Okay, Nellie," he started, "What did he do now?"

Nellie sighed. "It's okay, Ben. I can handle myself."

"No, Nellie, you can't! That's the problem!" he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Listen, Nellie, I've been thinking and…" he trailed off.

"Ben?" asked Nellie, because she was really started to get worried.

"We can leave, Nellie," started Ben, "We can just leave! You and me, and we can get out of bloody London and we can go by the sea, like you wanted. Do you want to just leave?"

It took all of Nellie's willpower not to leap into his arms right then and there. She wanted to scream "YES!" but common sense took over. If they left together, Albert would come after them. Ben would most likely be put in prison. Plus, even if none of that happened, their reputations would be ruined.

"Ben," Nellie sighed, "We can' jus' leave."

"Yes, we can!" shouted Ben.

"Ben, stop this foolishness. You need to leave this alone." Nellie turned to exit the alley and walked away from Ben.

"Like hell I will!" he shouted, as he pulled her around to face him. This is the first time Nellie ever saw a glimpse of Sweeney in Benjamin. When she turned to face him, she saw the rage and passion of a helpless man, whose anger burned within him when things did not go as planned. Ben didn't know it at the time, but he had a dangerous side, kept hidden by the naivety of his youth. After naïve was taken away, the passionate man came out. His name is Sweeney Todd.

For a split second, the duo just stared at each other. Then, a wave of recognition washed over Ben's face, and he let go of Nellie. "I'm so sorry, Nell."

Nellie smiled. "It's fine, love. Now, why don'tcha let me 'andle things, okay?"

Ben nodded, and walked away. He was feeling something new wash over him, though he couldn't put a name on it. But as Mrs. Lovett watched him walk away, she knew exactly what the feeling was, for she had seen it many times: power. First, she had seen it in the workhouse manager as he lay on top of her, fiddling with her clothes. Then, she saw it in her husband, as she was beaten bloodily. Now, in Benjamin Barker. What will come of it? She saw Ben sit down on a park bench next to a blonde woman. He sighed and put his head in his hands. The woman leaned over and said something with a smile. Little did she know, the blonde woman would crush every dream she had. That woman was Lucy.

By the time Mrs. Lovett's thoughts drifted to Lucy, she knew that it was time for bed. So, she just found a comfortable position and waited for her beloved metronome to lull her to sleep. But, something was wrong. There was no pacing above her. This was a rare occurrence, and one that mustn't be taken lightly. So, she lifted herself off the bed and started walking to the door. As she was about to turn the knob, she heard a scuttling noise go past her door. She looked around, but saw no one in the hall. "Bloody rats," she muttered under her breath. She resolved to look into it in the morning, and started up the long stairs to Mr. Todd's room.

Sweeney learned never to sleep from 15 years locked up in Australia. Not to get into details, but if you put 20 men who haven't seen a woman in years together, things are bound to get messy. So, Sweeney learned to be an insomniac, not that it's some sort of skill or anything. The fear just gave him some sort of high to live off of. Now, out of that sweaty hell, he uses his newfound talent by creating plans for the judge. Horrible, terrible plans for the judge's slow and painful death. It couldn't be quick, oh no, he had to see the pain that washes over Turpin's fat, bloated face. The moment would be sweet satisfaction of a revenge well done. Revenge for what he did to Lucy. Oh, Lucy…

He remembers the day he met Lucy. He had just asked Mrs. Lovett to run away with him, and he was jokingly turned down. _Thank God, _he thought_, or else I would be married to _her_ in a cottage by the sea. Never would have met Lucy, Johanna wouldn't exist and I…_

He stopped. Would he have still been Benjamin Barker? Would he and Mrs. Lovett have children? Would he have been…happy?

He had to sit down. These thoughts would not enter his mind. Not during a memory of Lucy. But what did he have to remember of Lucy? Her face, her eye color, even her scent was gone from his memory. All that remained was the shade of her hair: the color of wheat. It framed her face like a golden halo. Yes, Lucy was indeed an angel. And she had saved him, he supposed.

Like Sweeney was remembering before, he had met Lucy on the day Mrs. Lovett had rejected him. He sat down with his head in his hands and sighed. Lucy leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Why so glum, mate?"

He could hear the smile in her voice. "I asked a girl to run away with me, and she said no." He looked up to see a girl, around his age, perhaps a bit younger, with golden yellow hair.

Lucy still smiled, somewhat smug this time. "Oh, well that's not very nice. What'cha gonna do now?'

Ben smiled back. "Perhaps just jump into the Thames. You know, end the misery."

This time, he was rewarded by a laugh. To Sweeney's horror, he couldn't even remember her laugh. Was it boisterous, or meek? Tinkling or clanging? He hadn't the slightest idea. But, he did remember the response. "That's not nice, either. How about you take a swim in a pond instead? I know a great place."

How could he refuse an offer like that? "I'd love to, Miss…?"

She laughed, again. "White. Lucy White. And you?

He got up, and bowed dramatically. "Benjamin Barker, at your service, Miss White."

His showmanship was rewarded by another laugh. "Well, Mr. Barker, let's go!" She hopped of the bench, and pulled him along the streets. She suddenly stopped, and blocking her path was a man with roses. Yellow roses, the friendship flower. "Why hello, Lucy. These are for you," said the flower man, extending the roses.

Lucy smiled, a fake smile to be polite, and accepted the roses. "Thank you, Mr. Turpin. They're lovely."

Turpin smiled proudly. "Only the best, my dear." He eyed Benjamin suspiciously before he causally walked back into the crowd. With her true smile restored, Lucy continued to pull Benjamin to her favorite pond. At the time, Ben didn't know it, but on this day, he had earned a new love, and a new enemy.

As Sweeney thought up ways to add yellow roses in his revenge plot, he heard dainty footsteps climbing on the stairs, and then a faint rapping on his door.

"Mr. T?" whisper-shouted the visitor. Sweeney sighed and, knowing he should let her in before she barges in, opens up the door to the let the rather cold Mrs. Lovett into his room.

Mrs. Lovett stared awkwardly at Mr. Todd for a few moments before asking, "You alrigh', love?"

Leave it to Mrs. Lovett to worry about Mr. Todd's sanity when he's _not_ pacing like a tiger in it's cage. "Yes, Mrs. Lovett. I am perfectly fine."

Mrs. Lovett bit her lip. Should she ask him? Would that be too much?

Before she even got the chance, Mr. Todd interrupted her. "Did the boy drink all the gin?" he asked.

Mrs. Lovett shook her head no. Mr. Todd sighed, and headed for the door. He didn't need to invite Mrs. Lovett, because he knew she would follow him. She was like a little lost puppy, and she hated that he knew it.

They went into the pie shop, and Mrs. Lovett went to the parlor to get the gin that her beloved barber so dearly desired. When she returned, she found the one _she_ desired looking as glum as ever. She placed the gin in the middle of the table, and went to go get two glasses. By the time she came back, the barber had already drunk half of the bottle. Oh well. So much for propriety.

She set both glasses on the table, and then held out her hand for the bottle. Sweeney stared at it, like someone staring at a rather interesting bug on the ground.

"Come on, Mr. T," sighed Mrs. Lovett. " 'and over the gin. I can use a drink just as much as you."

The man considered this and, with much regret, handed the bottle over to the woman. Mrs. Lovett brought the bottle to her lips and drank. The burn in her throat stung, but the sweet taste of the barber on the bottle made her forget any pain.

They sat in silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth. It amazed Mrs. Lovett that Sweeney is not only with her, but not insulting her. Mr. Todd was equally surprised, for Mrs. Lovett wasn't talking. This was certainly a miracle. The glorious silence made the room calm and glorious. Of course, all good things must come to an end.

"Okay, love," she started, "What's wrong?"

He obviously couldn't tell her that he needed to sit down after he thought about a life with her. So, he remained as silent as possible, his best self defense.

Mrs. Lovett sighed, and crossed her legs under the table. _Well, _she thought, _this is just incredibly awkward. _So, she used her best defense: logic. True, Mrs. Lovett never had a proper education, but she devoted her life to reading as much about the world as possible after she left the workhouse.

"Do you know about ice bergs, Mr. T?" she asked.

Now, this was an incredibly random question for Mr. Todd. It completely took him off-guard, so he started choking on his gin. The burning in his throat was almost unbearable, until it finally passed and he was able to swallow. When he was able to speak again, he simply uttered, "What?"

Mrs. Lovett felt horrible. She almost killed him! But, if he knew as much about bergs as she did, he wouldn't have been as surprised. So, horror turned to smug satisfaction as she repeated her question.

"I said-"

"Oh, bloody hell!" interrupted the barber. "I heard the question! What the hell does it mean?"

Now she was scared. But, she had him talking. That was something. "I mean, ice bergs are really tricky. Ya see, ten percen' are above the wa'er, but nine'y percen' are below, away from view. And, they're really cold." This time, she smiled a little bit.

Now he got it. He sighed. "What do you want, Mrs. Lovett?" he asked.

The smile faded. She reached out to touch his hand, but he pulled away. "What's wrong with'chu, love?

He really didn't want to tell her, but he told her anyway. "Lucy…" he sighed.

_Oh. Of course, _thought Mrs. Lovett. "What about 'er, love?"

This time, he didn't answer. He just took another drink of gin, and stared out the window. Yes, even on the lower floor, Mr. Todd always looked out the window. This time, though, he saw something worth staring at. On the ground, like a tiny beacon of light, was a shiny necklace. In a hypnotized like state, he went out the door and into the middle of the street. In the back of his mind, he heard Mrs. Lovett's cry, like white noise. He couldn't even distinguish the words. All he could see in his mind is the silvery necklace. As he knelt down to pick it up, a weird electric feeling passed over the man. He brushed it off as easily as he ignored Mrs. Lovett's voice. He just knelt and held the bauble. It was a cameo, a woman with long, flowing hair. He looked on the back, and engraved there were the initials LB.

"L.B…." the barber whispered. Was this Lucy's? Where on Earth-

"Mr. Todd!" Mrs. Lovett's voice interrupted his thoughts. What did the wench want now?

Then he felt it. An electric current, running through his body. It felt like he was on fire, but the burning was running everywhere. The pain was so intense, that it felt he was in the middle of a wildfire. His last conscious thought was a debate on whether the necklace would survive the immense heat of the flame.

Mrs. Lovett knew the feeling all to well. Her own cousin had been struck by lightning just three years ago. He was lucky, though. He woke up around two hours later, but his memory of the last day had been totally shocked. But, he was a very weak man. He couldn't even carry the flour bag from the market place to her shop. Pathetic.

When she chased Mr. Todd outside, as soon as she hit the night air, she knew something was wrong. It felt exactly like lightning. And, it had started raining. That was never a good sign. When she felt as though the energy started to rise, she started to get worried. "Mr. Todd!" she shouted. She needed him inside. Now.

He looked like he was about to say something. But, at the last second, the thing that Mrs. Lovett feared came. She watched as the lightning hit her barber, and then how her barber's eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and then he collapsed.

_Oh, bollocks._ She rushed over to him. She knelt on the ground to take a pulse. Once seeing that there was one, she picked him up by the arms, and dragged-carried him into the parlor. This, as you could tell, took a lot of effort. But, being the impenetrable wall of strength, she continued to do anything she could.

_Now, _thought the distressed baker, _last time, smelling salts brought some sort of conscious state back._

Mrs. Lovett happened to have some smelling salts around. When Albert beat her, sometimes she would lose consciousness. So, Ben would always try to wake her up with smelling salts. It usually worked, but sometimes they needed to call a doctor. Nellie hoped it wouldn't have to come to that with Sweeney.

When she found smelling salts, she once again returned to Sweeney's side. It looked as if he was hit in the side, because his shirt was ripped open, and a gnarly gash was oozing blood down his side. Mrs. Lovett shuttered. She would get to that later.

She put the salts under his nose, waving it back and forth, like a steak and a dog. About two minutes into this activity, Sweeney's eyes fluttered open. Slowly, at first, with his eyes glazed over. After one minute of not blinking, his eyes, the black orbs they were, seemed to come to life again. His whole face moved into a pained expression.

"Bloody hell," was all he could manage.

He tried to sit up, but Mrs. Lovett pushed him back down, gently. "Love, are you alright?"

He gave her a death glare.

"Okay, okay," sighed Mrs. Lovett. "I'm gonna ask ya a few questions, okay?"

He rolled his eyes, but made no attempt to stop her. Mrs. Lovett took this as a yes.

"Alright. Where are ya?"

"Fleet Street, London."

"Who am I?"

"Mrs. Lovett, master pie baker," he added sarcastically.

Now it was Mrs. Lovett's turn to roll her eyes. "I'm only tryin' ta help, ya know."

She sighed, but continued on anyway. "What do ya do?"

"Barber."

"What is your name?"

Now, if you could not tell already, this is a hard question. He paused before replying "Legal or what?"

"Both."

"Benjamin Barker and Sweeney Todd."

Mrs. Lovett smiled. Her barber was fine. So, she might as well see what he remembers of the last hour.

"Do ya remember what happened, love?"

He paused. "I remember I was looking out the window, and I saw a necklace. I think I was drawn to it, or something. So, I went out to go look at it, then…" he trailed off before adding, "I don't remember."

Mrs. Lovett smiled. He remembered so much. Perhaps her cousin was simply a weak man. I mean, he died with the flu. Even Lucy didn't die of the flu.

"Well, love," continued Mrs. Lovett, "You got struck by lightnin', ya did."

Sweeney gaped at her, but quickly covered it up with a skeptical glare. "Oh, really? And why should I believe you?"

This time, Mrs. Lovett smirked. "Look at your side, love."

Sweeney glanced down, and then his mouth twitched with disgust. His gash was now bubbling blood, its sticky wetness running down the side of his pants. The gash itself was red from irritation, and it looked like it had been severely burned. Then, the pain set in.

Sweeney sucked in a breath, before exhaling it through his teeth. A pained expression was on his face, like he was being burned alive. Mrs. Lovett went to go find some rags and gin, but Sweeney grabbed her arm at the last second.

"Use the shirt," said through gritted teeth, "It's in shreds anyway."

Mrs. Lovett saw that he was right. The shirt was useless, so she might as well use it. She tore the shirt off, oh how she wanted to do that for so long, and used a quarter full gin bottle next to her. As she started to clean and bandage the wounds, she noticed scars of other parts of his body, like a long white one from his collar bone to mid-torso. She assumed these were from Australia. _Poor Mr. T, _she thought. After the wound was cleaned, Sweeney was still in a lot of pain. She offered him the bottle, and he took it willingly.

"Do you want me to bandage anything else, love?" she asked.

Once again, she received a dark glare. "Fine," she breathed.

After a pause, she opened her mouth yet again. "Mr. T?" she asked.

"Yes?' he replied, clearly annoyed.

"How did you get those scars?" she asked.

He sighed, and then took another swallow of gin. "Australia is a horrible place, Mrs. Lovett. I hope to never return. I hope that you never go, as well."

She grinned, even though it was a rather morbid subject. She took this time to look over her beloved barber. He was strong, she already knew, but he seemed to have gotten much stronger in Australia. He wasn't extremely muscular, but he seemed to be in good shape, with a tight stomach. No rippling biceps, but he was still very nice on the eyes, that goes without saying.

"Mr. T?" she asked, yet again.

"What do you need now, Mrs. Lovett?"

"Well, I was just wonderin', er…"

"Out with it, woman!"

"Could ya tell me about Australia?"

He frowned at her. "Why on Earth would you want to know about that fiery hell?" he inquired.

Mrs. Lovett shrugged, and twirled her hair a bit. Mr. Todd sighed. "Alright,' he sighed. "But this is the only time. I will never talk about this again, do you understand?"

Mrs. Lovett nodded eagerly, and perked up slightly.

Over the course of a half an hour, Mr. Todd told everything about Australia to the eagerly silent Mrs. Lovett. He talked about his cell mates, and the horrible things they did to each other while they were sleeping. He talked about the jailer's daughter, and how men used her for the keys to the cell. This got a hearty laugh out of Mrs. Lovett. With much surprise, Sweeney Todd always remembered Mrs. Lovett's laugh. Perhaps it was because she laughed so rarely, the occasion was always to be remembered. _Yes, _thought Sweeney, _of course that's it._

He continued to talk on the subject of his home for the past fifteen years. How he was allowed fifteen minutes of free time a day, how he tried to carve keys out of soap (unsuccessfully, I might add), and how he was chained to the wall from dusk till dawn. It was an indecent way to live, being chained and monitored like an animal. You lose all self respect, and hope, and all love.

After he was done, Mrs. Lovett just stared at him. She loved him most of all at that moment. For, at that very moment in time, he was the strongest person she had ever known. He lived in a bloody penitentiary for fifteen years, and came back to her. Except, he wasn't coming back to _her, _was he? No, it was all for Lucy. So, Mrs. Lovett did what she did when she thought of Lucy.

"Would you like to play some darts, Mr. T?" she inquired.

Mr. Todd chuckled darkly. "You never cease to amaze me Mrs. Lovett," he said, and as she left the room to find the darts, he silently added, "No matter how many times I ask you to."

Mrs. Lovett, of course, was oblivious of that last comment, as she always was.

When she returned, she had in her hands darts, and the picture of her late husband. "Now," she began, 'I don' 'ave a propa dart board. Bu' I 'ave the next bes' thing." She hung up the picture of Albert, and handed Sweeney three darts. He managed to sit up and accept the darts.

Mrs. Lovett played her first, and it landed right between his eyes. Mr. Todd went straight to the neck. "You know," he said, "I used to do this all the time."

"Wha'?" inquired Mrs. Lovett, "Play darts?"

He smiled, just the tiniest little smile. "Yes," he said, as his dart landed in the picture's left eye, "With this same board."

Mrs. Lovett gasped, with a huge smile on her face. "Mr. T!" she giggled. "Why on Earth would'ja do tha'?"

He remained focused on the game as he replied, "Never did like the man. Why in God's name did you marry him?"

Mrs. Lovett wasn't smiling anymore. " 'ad no choice, love."

Now, Mr. Todd was interested. "What do you mean, you had no choice?" he asked, honestly curious for what the woman had to say. She couldn't possibly mean…

Mrs. Lovett had tears in her eyes. "I mean, I had _no choice," _she said, darkly.

Without any further warning, Nellie started telling Sweeney her tale. It's not like he _wanted_ to hear it, but he wanted to know all the same.

"I was young, okay? You must remember what that was like? So naïve, but so aware, all the same, right? Well, it's really my sister's fault. I know, I shouldn't blame her for my mistakes, but it really is her fault."

"Nellie," breathed Mr. Todd, hoping that the use of her name would help her calm down from her blabbering, "Just tell me."

She inhaled. "It was a night like this one. Dark, terrifyingly cold, and I was all alone. My sister found me on the streets, and she told me she found a place for me to stay the night. I was thrilled. I mean, a place to sleep, with a warm bed and four walls was like heaven. So, she took me to the place, and said that she would be right back, but for me to go on in. I was too happy to have a place to sleep to even be suspicious. So, I entered the room, and it was really dark. I couldn't see anything. All of a sudden, I felt someone cover my mouth. I was dragged to the bed without any warning. All I felt were hands viciously tugging at my corset strings. I tried to get away, but the hands punched me, and I went lax. I couldn't move anything. He seemed to like that, that I couldn't move…"

Her voice trailed off there. "I'll spare you the details. You don't really need to know this anyway. Well, the next morning, I woke up. Completely naked, wrapped up in the sheets. I finally saw my attacker. It was Albert. I hated him so much at that moment; it took all of my strength to not strangle him. Instead, I silently put on my clothes, and ran out of the building. I thought that it was over, that I would never have to think about him again. But, about a month later, I found out I was with child."

"I couldn't tell anyone. If someone found out, I could have been put in bedlam, and my child would have been put in the workhouse, just like me. I did the only thing I could: throw myself down the stairs. Only, there was a slight problem: my sister. She saw me just as I was about to fall. She stopped me, and figured out what I was trying to do. My sister, the little slut, then told Albert. He managed to find me and told me he was going to lock me up if I didn't marry him. I don't know why he was so desperate, but he made me do it anyway. We got married a few days later."

Mrs. Lovett had tears falling down her cheeks, staining her dress. Sweeney was stunned. She was raped, and then married her attacker? Mrs. Lovett was obviously stronger than he had anticipated.

"What happened to the child?" he whispered.

This question made Mrs. Lovett cry harder. Just a bit of increased tear flow, but enough to make her eye makeup run. "Albert killed him. Just after he was born. He took him in his arms, like a father should. Then, he took a knife out of his pocket, and stabbed him, right in the heart. I didn't even have time to name him."

Mrs. Lovett was sobbing uncontrollably now, and Sweeney did not know what to do. He was never very good at comforting people, even when he was Benjamin. He always felt too awkward to do anything. Now that he was Sweeney, it was no different. So, he sat on the couch and watched as Mrs. Lovett bawled. He tried to put an arm around her, but, surprisingly, that made her cry harder.

After ten minutes of crying, Mrs. Lovett finally turned her bawling into quiet sobbing. Her makeup was totally ruined, her dress stained with tears. Her hair, if possible, was even more knotted and mangled. She looked horrible. But to Sweeney, she was powerful. A brave, courageous woman, who was kicked into a hole but somehow dug her way out. She sighed, and turned to Sweeney, her bloodshot eyes boring into his. "I killed him," she whispered, so that Sweeney could barely hear it.

Sweeney nodded. He had guessed as much. But, there was always that sick fascination…

"How?" he asked. He was truly interested.

She chucked, and then smiled, a tiny, microscopic little smile. "'e died like a rat. I put arsenic in his dinna. Best thing I ever cooked." She let out a small little laugh.

Sweeney joined in with her for a moment, but then stopped. Arsenic. Lucy took arsenic to kill herself. Did she get it from Mrs. Lovett?

Mrs. Lovett seemed to read Sweeney's thoughts. "Oh, love. Sorry. She didn' ge' it from me, I swear."

Sweeney thought that she was telling the truth, so he didn't press the matter any further. It was the past, anyway. It wasn't Mrs. Lovett's fault.

"Thank ya, Mr. T," she said. "I needed that."

He supposed that she did. That was the difference about them, I suppose. Sweeney never cried, ever. It wasn't possible anymore. His heart could not melt. He didn't think he could ever really show emotion again.

"Well, don't I look a mess," she chuckled, wiping the last tears from her eyes. "Why don't we call it a night, Mr. T?"

He nodded, and tried to sit up. After two failed attempts, Mrs. Lovett pushed him back down. "Why don' ya jus' sleep down 'ere tonig', love?" she inquired.

Sweeney nodded, and fell back, collapsing into the pillows. Mrs. Lovett smiled, and then went into her room.

Mrs. Lovett quickly changed out of her dress and into her paper-thin night gown. As she lied down in her bed, she thought about all the things that happened that night. Sweeney had listened to her, actually listened. It was amazing. A miracle. He opened up to her as well, telling her all about Australia. She thought that he could use some venting. He certainly looked better. She felt better after her vent session, too. Everything was going well with them. But Mrs. Lovett was not naïve. She knew that everything would go back to normal as soon as she woke up. But, what if she didn't go to sleep? What if this was all a dream? Did she even want to wake up?

She decided to risk it. She once again got out of bed and headed to the parlor. Not surprisingly, the barber was also awake. His black eyes burned like coals as he stared into the fire.

"Couldn't sleep, pet?" he asked, never taking his eyes from the fire.

"Nah," she sighed, as she sat on the floor beneath his couch. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the crack and pops of the fire. Then, the most surprising thing of all happened that night: the barber started a conversation.

"Mrs. Lovett didn't you used to play the violin?" he asked.

After the initial shock wore off, Mrs. Lovett smiled. "That I did, love. That I did."

"Would you play something?" he asked.

Another blast of shock hit the woman. She never expected him to remember that she played, let alone ask her to play. But, she would do anything for her barber.

She got up and went across the room, fetching the violin from the piano bench. She used to play the piano as well, but without the barber upstairs, life seemed to have no music. And, when the barber returned, she had been much too busy to actually play. So, the dusty, worn out piano just sat there, with its companion, the violin. But now, she could at least play the violin. She was going to have an all-nighter, after all.

She got back to the couch, and sat down in her original position. "Whatcha wanna 'ear, love?" she asked.

He smiled one of his prized smirks. "Whatever pleases you, pet."

She smiled a genuine smile. She loved it when he called her pet. It always sounded like he cared.

Now, Mrs. Lovett was always a prepared woman. She never did something without a plan in her mind. So, as she walked over to go get her beloved violin, she already knew what song she would play. So, she raised the violin and began to play the one song that got her through all of her hard times: Nearer My God To Thee.

The song was the farthest thing from happy that you could imagine, but its high notes and perfect melodies warmed her heart like no other. She even sang a bit by herself, "Still my song shall be, nearer, my God, to thee. Nearer, My God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee." She hummed the rest, not wanted the man on the couch to hear her. If he did, he didn't show it. She thought, or perhaps it was her imagination, that he hummed along as well.

When she finished, it seemed a shame to have the tune go. The room seemed painfully quiet, like it was taking a breath and waiting to exhale. She exhaled as well, and looked upon the face of her dear friend. He was actually asleep. This was a miracle. Maybe another miracle would happen?

Against her better judgment, all of her wit and intentions, she leaned in and whispered in the barber's ear the three little words that she always carries in her heart. "I love you." To her surprise, the barber moved.

His eyes were wide awake. "Nellie," he said, but it sounded more like a curse than a name. He got one of his murderous looks on his face. One that would kill you alive. "You know that I could never possibly return the affection." His eyes burned with anger, depression, and a bit of regret. "You know that. Did you really think that I was stupid enough not to notice?" he snarled.

Mrs. Lovett was taken by surprise. She jumped back as if he had slapped her, which, in a sense, he did. It was terrible, this resolution. Tears were threatening in her eyes. The barber turning into a charcoal blur. "Fine, then," she said. She wanted to walk away, to retain some dignity, but dignity was long past. Her feet couldn't move. She couldn't breathe.

"Leave me, Eleanor," he sighed, and for once she was happy to comply. She went back into her room and cried until morning. But, in a sense, she had gotten what she wanted. She wanted to be noticed.

The next day came and went as usual, but the two never really spoke to each other during the day. You see, they were each other's midnight confessional and that was the most they could hope for.

Nothing more, nothing less.

* * *

_**Yeah, this is basically what I have been working on for a long time. I am not exactly happy about the results, but whatever. My next story is most likely going to be in Alice and Wonderland, so please check me out there. Oh, and yes, I made Mrs. Lovett's accent go away during her huge monolouge. It was way to hard to write. Anyway, please R and R! **_


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